


Beyond Measure

by Daegaer



Category: Eight Days of Luke - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Drinking, Football | Soccer, Gen, Holidays, Names, flyting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David goes on holiday to his relatives' favourite resort, Scarborough, and has an afternoon away from Astrid with some other visiting boys. And Luke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond Measure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashura/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely beta reader, Puddingcat!

David kicked a stone along the beach, digging his hands into his pockets. He wished he'd had the sense to say to Astrid that they'd go somewhere, _anywhere_ else, but she'd got it into her head that it was only fair he should finally have a trip to his family's favourite summer holiday destination. He _hated_ it, he decided firmly. All the best parts of it were in the South Bay, but Astrid had booked rooms in a B &B in the quiet North Bay where she had stayed before. It was staid, and boring and so horribly respectable – no wonder Aunt Dot had been so keen on the place. He knew Astrid had realized her mistake within a day, and was utterly unhappy at seeing again the places she'd been forced to endure with Cousin Ronald. Her memories took the fun out of even the things she liked doing. She wouldn't admit it, though, and kept veering between fake happiness and snappish misery until today when she had finally given in to one of her heads for old time's sake and declared she was going to lie down for the afternoon.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry!" David called in embarrassment, as his stone sailed past another boy's ankle. "Miles away."

"You're telling me. If you want to kick something, come and join us." The boy gestured vaguely at a small group of boys in swimming togs trying to get a good shot with a brightly coloured ball. "You can be in goal next - I'm tired of it." 

David thought about it for a moment then decided that playing football with some strangers was almost as good as playing cricket, and eagerly took the boy's place. After a while another boy took a turn in goal, and David joined in chasing the beach ball across the sand. Forty minutes later he was tired, but a lot happier.

He stayed with some of the boys as the beach began to empty, holiday makers trudging away in search of tea and chips. None of the boys had known each other before that day, and it was freeing, David thought, not to have to explain anything about himself, not to have to reassure them that he was having a good time. They were all in Scarborough for the same reason, and that was reason enough to wander around together. 

"Let's go under that wall," one of the boys, Sam, said. "I've got something."

"What?" another, John, asked.

"When we're over there, come on." 

They grabbed up their clothes and carrier bags of drinks and crisps and went over to the shelter of the wall, throwing themselves down again on the warm sand.

"So what is it?" David said.

Sam grinned, and pulled a bottle from his bag that wasn't lemonade. "I got this out of my Dad's case," he said. "There wouldn't have been enough for all the boys earlier, but there's enough for all of us."

They all looked at the bottle of whisky with some respect.

"You're going to get it from your Dad," Tim said.

Sam shrugged, basking in the glow of their regard. "Who wants some? I took his fags too."

Astrid would _kill_ him, David thought. She'd have one of her heads so badly that she might actually grow another head specially to have a headache with. John took a swig, trying not to grimace and held the bottle out to him. The other boys were all looking at him. David took it and swallowed a good mouthful. It was the worst thing he'd ever tasted, worse even than Mrs Thirsk's cooking, but he kept it down as it burnt its way down his throat and into his stomach. The second swig was just as bad, but the third was just warm. After the fourth he looked fondly at Tim trying to get a cigarette properly lit, and leant over to light a match for him as he wheezed and coughed.

"Having a party without me?" Luke said, dropping down beside him. David turned and grinned at him.

"Hello! Here, would you like some?"

Luke took the bottle and peered at it before shrugging and taking a deep draught.

"Friend of yours?" Sam said, watching the level in the bottle go down.

"Yes, it's Luke," David said happily. "Actually, he's really – "

Luke started coughing, his pale freckly face going a rather alarming shade of red. John retrieved the bottle before it could empty its precious contents into the sand and passed it back to Sam who examined it closely, his face creasing in puzzlement at the amount that was left, which seemed to be rather more than when Luke had arrived. He cradled the bottle like a favourite toy and nodded at Luke as David thumped him on the back.

"Not had whisky before then, mate?"

"No," Luke wheezed, and took a deep, steadying breath. "I think I like it – can I have some more?" 

Sam looked at him in tipsy annoyance, but there was clearly plenty left, and having established himself as their generous benefactor he found himself trapped in the role. He passed the bottle back and Luke drank again, with rather less coughing this time.

"That's not bad," Luke said, and handed it to David. He was wearing, David saw, shorts and a t-shirt that said _Welcome to Scarborough_ , and his slightly grubby feet were thrust into a pair of sandals that had seen better days. "Got anything to eat?"

Once mentioned, food seemed more important than anything, but when they had pooled all their resources all they had was a couple of sad and dried out ham sandwiches, and half a bag of sweets that had melted together into a sticky, unappealing lump. Divided up between the boys it only made them even hungrier.

"When we've finished this I think I'm going to go and get my dinner," Sam said, and the others made noises of agreement.

The level in the bottle stayed where it was, even after it had gone around the circle another couple of times and David looked unsteadily and suspiciously at Luke who gave him a wide and innocent smile in return. Luke's freckles stood out very plainly against the bright pink his face had gone, and his eyes were shining even more brightly than David remembered.

"Have you really not had whisky before?" David said, carefully so that he would manage to make the ends of the words leave his lips.

"No," Luke said. "It mustn't have been around before I was sent off to you-know-where. Isn't it lucky there's still enough for everyone!" His tone was so ridiculously innocent that David knew that all his suspicions were correct.

"Luke –" he managed, and then a tall, wide shadow fell across the group.

"Now, lads, what are you up to?" the policeman said as his eyes fell on the whisky bottle and the cigarettes. "Here, don't you think you're a bit young to be drinking that? Hand it over –"

"Run!" John shrieked, and all the others scrambled up, seizing up their clothes and fleeing. 

"Come _on_ ," Sam yelled over his shoulder, and was off, as Luke's hand came down, vice-like, on David's wrist.

"Give that back," Luke said, quite reasonably for someone who was, David saw with a sinking heart, really quite drunk. Of course, he was drunk too, and standing in front of a policeman, who was presumably next going to ask –

"Where are you two staying? And what are your names?"

"David A-" David started, and stopped as Luke stepped on his foot and said,

" – and Luke."

The policeman sighed. "David and Luke what?"

Luke looked a little puzzled, if innocently helpful. "What?"

"He means a surname," David whispered, very loudly.

"A surname," Luke said blankly, and then his expression cleared. "Oh, right. You mean, like 'Liesmith'?"

The policeman looked distinctly unfriendly, David thought. "What's your surname?" the man snapped. 

Luke's eyes narrowed. "I don't like your tone," he said, and he sounded a lot older than he looked.

"Please, Luke," David said, "don't you have a surname? Like the second bit of mine? Or, or a parent's name? Or _something_?"

"Laufeyjarson," Luke said. "Luke Laufeyjarson, may your churl's ears ring from the hearing of it, officer." He smiled sweetly as the policeman shook his head as if a buzzing fly annoyed him.

"Um, Luke?" David said.

"Keep silent, you slave of the law before one who gives not _that_ for it," Luke said, snapping his fingers derisively as the policeman opened his mouth.

David watched sparks kindle at the snap and dribble from Luke's fingers lazily down to the sand. Luke might not be taking the obvious care with his words that he himself had to, he thought, but he was drunk all the same and right now he was looking both wickedly amused at the policeman's outrage at such cheek, and haughty as if he had the right to deliver a lot more of it.

"You're brave before boys," Luke said, his grin widening, "yet meek as a maiden in your own home, hard of hearing as you hope that none will notice no child of yours bears your features in face or form."

"What did you say?" the policeman said, his face going pale and drawn.

Luke sighed. "Of course. No one likes poetry any more – I _said_ , your wife's a -"

" _Luke!_ " David yelled in horror. "Let's _go!_ " He grabbed Luke's arm and pulled him away, staggering down the beach until Luke stopped resisting and was the one pulling him along.

"I hadn't even set his shoes on fire yet to make him dance," Luke grumbled when they finally stopped. "That would have been really funny."

"Yes," David said cautiously, "but you'd already told him off, so maybe it would have been a bit much."

"Fair," Luke muttered. "What do you people have about being _fair_? I told him my _name_ , David, which I wouldn't have done if you hadn't wanted me to. Names are powerful things – having his shoes set on fire would barely tip the scales."

"He's probably too stupid to remember it," David said, patting Luke's arm clumsily. Luke didn't usually say that sort of thing, he thought. More proof of the whisky at work. "Anyway, I know the name that really matters." He smiled at Luke's expression. "You're my friend Luke, and that's all I care about."

Luke looked pleased and relieved. "You have no idea," he said, "no idea how good it is, being with you." He waved away David's embarrassed mutter. "Really. It's better than anything; I haven't felt this young in – well. Quite a while. I'm very glad to be your friend." He gave David an impish smile, adding, "Don't mind me – how strong _was_ that stuff, anyway?"

David shrugged. "Strong. Astrid'll kill me."

"Astrid? Great! She'll buy us food, won't she?"

David nodded, and led the way towards the B&B, hoping the walk would rid them both of the smell of whisky on their breath. "You can sober me up by the time we see her, can't you?"

Luke laughed. "I'll think of something. Let me do the talking." 

"And no rude poetry."

"To Astrid? Absolutely not," Luke said. "Promise." He winked.

David laughed along with him. It would have to do.

**Author's Note:**

> In the Poetic Edda, the _Lokasenna_ (The Flyting of Loki) is the account of Loki's insults to the other gods as they drink during a feast.
> 
> Heimdall reproaches Loki with the following:  
>  __  
> Drunk art thou, Loki, and mad are thy deeds,  
>  Why, Loki, leavest thou this not?  
> For drink beyond measure will lead all men  
> No thought of their tongues to take.


End file.
